


Untitled

by RurouniHime



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin is homesick. Bradley is awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Colin jumps to his feet, scrambling as far as he can away from the opening door, as if that will make him less visible or less vulnerable or… maybe a bit like an ostrich. The thought is so painfully stupid just then that his eyes sting and he has to shut them, fumbling his hand out for the chair he remembers being nearby but which has obviously just now vanished. And Bradley James, slave to no goddess of mercy under the sun, comes into the room.

“Colin.”

It’s a _Colin, hey_ or a _Colin, look what I’ve got here_ , or maybe even a _Colin, I’ve a fantastic idea_. Only it stops right there with his name. Colin wipes his eyes with the heel of one hand, instinctive and uncontrollable because God knows he doesn’t want to give Bradley this open door to walk through just now, even when he’s given him so many others. So many more intimate others, but this… feels deeper. Darker, somehow. Bloody hell, he still can’t speak anything but English and he’s going insane, right here in this hotel room in—

“What’s wrong?” Bradley asks. Colin opens his eyes and makes a swipe for the photo he’s left on the bed, but that is a mistake because it’s already gone face down in his scramble, and now he’s drawn Bradley’s attention to it.

“Nothing’s—” His voice cracks. Bradley’s face shifts at just the same time, and Colin can’t stop his eyes from welling again. He huffs in a breath, turns away, and presses a hand to his forehead. “Headache.”

The rasp of the photo over his duvet sounds a resigned knell. Colin’s shoulders have gone so stiff again, his teeth hurt from the clenching, and he just can’t relax any of it anymore. He’s tried and tried and tried.

“Colin,” Bradley says again. Funny how half the words out of his mouth have been Colin’s name, and yet Colin hears what the question really is, and a tear slips down.

He turns and finds Bradley standing with the photo in hand, looking right at him. His mouth is a sad line. Colin jerks, then flings a hand at the room, at the window catch he can’t remember how to open, at the socket for which he’s likely forgotten his adaptor, at the friendly note of greeting he still stumbles through. “Bloody France,” he hisses.

Bradley is nearly around the bed to him when he shakes, unable to control it, feeling a bit like he’s going to sick up, and by the time Colin is rightly crying, Bradley’s got him in a warm, full clasp, photo pressed flat against the back of his shirt, one hand wreathed in Colin’s hair. It’s a good thing, too, because Colin’s not feeling all that stable physically, and he has to grab Bradley. Has to use him as support to stay up.

“S’okay,” Bradley says. His fingers enunciate each word. “S’okay. Going home for Christmas.”

Colin snuffs into Bradley’s shirt. “Three fucking months.”

“I know it,” Bradley murmurs. He sighs. “I know.”

Colin can feel the glossy image of his mother’s face pressed into his back, smiling tenderly at his spine. He doesn’t need the picture anymore. He has it memorized. “Wasn’t this bad. Last time.”

Bradley doesn’t respond verbally. Instead he gathers Colin more tightly against him, and it’s like he’s pressing the explanation right out of him. “I don’t get like this,” Colin breathes. “Haven’t in years, since drama school.”

“Cried myself to sleep first year,” Bradley intones gently, and Colin opens his eyes. Looks up in time for Bradley to look him straight in the eye and add, “Every night for the first month.”

“I’m.” He doesn’t have a response that won’t either sound trite or start his bawling all over again. Bradley tilts his head and looks him through and through, then runs a finger along his jawline.

“It’ll pass,” he says, easing Colin in again. “Before you know it.”

Colin nods, thinks about long plane rides and bad days on the set and the freefall after, and grips Bradley tight. Kisses his shoulder and then presses his face there and waits for the inevitable ebb tide.

~fin~


End file.
